A Case of Silver Spoons and Empty Homes
by Ditto Redeaux
Summary: "Dear lord," He heard her soft cry, "The child's survived."
1. A Child is Born

_With special dedication to all of my followers, you have all been so patient with me. I do encourage everyone to check out my other account at the sister site if you enjoy my work. Here we have a short prologue of a new story of mine set after Game of Shadows._

_D.R._

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200 words~ A Prologue

John Hamish Watson had turned a rather unflattering shade of gray and slid down against the wall. Holmes thought the man might be having some sort of a fit with how quickly his demeanor had changed, how quickly the color had drained from his face. Next to his Boswell Mrs. Hudson had her palm pressed to her lips in an expression of horror, and Sherlock found his ears ringing in an overtly loud silence that invariably occurs when a moment is stretched across time. Sherlock could see a blood stained handkerchief beneath white limp fingers hanging over the edge of the bed in the room. A nurse gently closed the door as Sherlock briefly shut his eyes. He stayed out of sight though he was sure that in his condition, even if he lacked the white coat and glasses, John would not recognize him if he was less than a mere meter afore him. The detective wasn't sure how long they all remained trapped in that odd and horrible purgatory, before a piercing scream filled the hall. Mrs. Hudson's hand fluttered from her mouth to the brooch at her collar, "Dear lord," He heard her soft cry, "The childs survived."


	2. Hop Skip Jump

_Hello all of my watchers, I wanted to get this out in honor of you all. Thank you._

_And for Zen, I was speaking of fictionpress =) It has my original stuff on it. _

_D.R._

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A frazzled looking nurse, who reminded him of dear Mrs. Hudson, was cradling the infant who was still screaming like any young thing that had been ripped too soon from its mother. He desperately wanted to tell her to shut it up, that he couldn't think or eavesdrop particularly well with that heinous sound before it was unceremoniously dumped in his arms with an exasperated "I have other patients to attend to if you have nothing better to do." At first glance it _she_ was the ugliest thing Holmes had seen in the most recent past. She was streaked with red and white and her eyes were impossibly puffy underneath those veiny eyelids. He wasn't sure what to do with her, so he pressed her into his chest in hopes of muffling the cries long enough to catch back up in the conversation around the corner.

"She was fine; I thought it might have been catarrh, maybe a touch of the grippe. I was hasty, I never even considered consumption." John was cradling a cup of coffee, "Is it Monday?" He asked absently after a moment of heavy silence.

"It's Tuesday actually." Carruthers responded, and Sherlock could pick up from the vaguely strained undertone that the man had been apart from his brother longer than he was comfortable with. Sherlock could almost picture his eyes darting to wherever Mycroft was. How restrictive it must be to be so inseparable.

"We," His tone was clipped, "We were married on a Tuesday. How did Mycroft-" He broke off again, "How?" Well wasn't that the question of the year. Sherlock found himself leaning forward to hear Robert's response because that had always escaped him as well.

"We were in the area." Came the evasive answer. Sherlock had no doubt that they were in the area, but their motives were probably far more incriminating and far more centered on his Boswell than the man would like to know. He realized that Mycroft may have very well been following Watson closer than he had been able to himself, and he made a note that he might think to send along a particularly nice box of cigars for his services.

Sherlock glanced down to the child who had been suckling rather contentedly at a button on the jacket, a trail of drool marring the white fabric to see that she had fallen asleep. He set her down into the metal framed bassinet in the hall behind him and managed to slip around the other corner as Mycroft and the doctor emerged from behind a closed door.

"I think it would be best if the child was reared by someone else."

"Surrogacy?" Mycroft's voice floated down the hall, "I can't help but agree. We can't expect her to suckle off a dead woman now can we?" His brother said as if it was the most obvious thing ever

The doctor sounded weary, "Not surrogacy Mr. Holmes, she ought to have a proper family. I went to school with John, but… He's gone a bit around the bend since that nasty business in Switzerland hasn't he? Well even before that…" The doctor let his voice trail off meaningfully as if to say he had only gone further around the bend and a hop, skip, and a jump down the road.


End file.
